


BOY GIRL BOY

by sillygrizzlies



Category: Persona 5
Genre: 1989, Aged-Up Characters, Akira is just along for the ride, Ann kills a man, Eventual Smut, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Violence, Ryuji is in deep shit, Slow Burn :), Substance Abuse, Weapons/Guns, Yakuza AU, mild violence, other characters to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21852685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sillygrizzlies/pseuds/sillygrizzlies
Summary: Tokyo, 1989A yakuza, a barber and an alcoholic all on the run from something.On the road, they find comfort in each other.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Sakamoto Ryuji, Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji
Comments: 33
Kudos: 87





	1. RUN

**Author's Note:**

> hello! 
> 
> this story has been on the back-burner for ages... I’m so glad to finally start sharing it! 
> 
> the concept was inspired by a certain music video, by the way... if anyone can guess it you’ll have my eternal appreciation <3 
> 
> anyways, enjoy!

RYUJI SAKAMOTO

22

The air was bitter in his lungs. The sting in his muscles yelling at him to run faster, run for his life from certain retribution. 

He wanted to go faster, leave the fear behind him in the dark alleys. But there was his young  _ shatei _ sprinting beside him, heaving from exhaustion and desperation. Shinya was just as much in danger as he was. Why did they run? 

They were slowing down. Gang members closing in on them, like a wildfire to thin brush. He had no worry about keeping up with his own pace, but Shinya was lagging behind. He glanced back at his struggling friend, stumbling over his feet, reaching out for his  _ kyodai _ . His big brother. He kept going, legs flying and his heart aching to stop in his tracks. He would have left Shinya to the wolves, if not for the sudden wall before him. 

He had slammed into another  _ kyodai _ , a fierce glare in his eyes. His fellow brother, with the same ink lining his skin and the same morals. But he had betrayed the syndicate and the run was all over. The man took hold of his shirt and slammed him to the ground, in time for the pursuing members to fall upon him like buzzards. 

At first, he was stunned. The asphalt beneath him was hard, and cold. He couldn’t move, and he couldn’t feel anything but the assault of fists and kicks. There was a strike to his abdomen; his chest and limbs left without mercy. Someone hit his jaw and he could taste blood. It all came down so fast. 

The barrage of insults and snarls from his members were drowned out by the all too familiar screams of his subordinate. Shinya was likely getting the same treatment, if not worse. He couldn’t get to him. His heart cried out, the pain of guilt striking him harder than the heel to his head. All he could hear now was Shinya. 

“Run, Ryuji!” 

As if commanded by his shrieks alone, he was off the ground. He flew past the reach of the gangsters, flew past his own brothers that nurtured him into a criminal. 

Ryuji sprinted, faster and heavier than he had ever run before. 

His body screamed, but he finally let go. He left his little brother — there was no going back. As the alleys curved into sharp, busy streets, a dark urban labyrinth, Ryuji ran harder. The pound of footsteps behind him were beginning to fall off. He was numb from the cold air and clamor around him. 

Finally, when Ryuji couldn’t pick apart the individuals behind him from the crowds, he began to slow. Dried blood was plastered on his face and body. His hands were covered in it, scraped raw from the asphalt. One finger caught his eye, the recent memory of its ruined form almost shocking him. Where the tip of his left pinkie finger sat just a day ago was now a bloodied stub. It reminded him: there’s nothing more he could’ve done for Shinya, even with the sacrifice of his own flesh. Nothing could satiate a blood-hungry syndicate. 

Ryuji slowed to a walk. That’s when the pain began to overwhelm the adrenaline. 

He was in the middle of Shinjuku. The worst place for him to be after running like that. In those moments, he couldn’t think about Shinya and what might be happening to him right now. Ryuji had to find somewhere safe in this lion’s den of a district. 

He limped down the sidewalks, walking aimlessly. There was no solace or shelter in this city for him. His apartment would be swarming with gang members in no time, no doubt. That wasn’t his home anymore. His childhood home was on the other side of town — his mom would likely shut the door on him, anyways. No car. Nothing liquid to his name; he definitely had lost his wallet in the tussle. 

Ryuji had one option, one place that could lick his wounds.

  
  


…

  
  
  


It had gotten even colder by the time Ryuji had limped down the side streets, finding his way to a single business hidden away from the bustling district. A clinic. Here, there was a long-time associate of his: an under-the-fable doctor who often treated the wounded of the yakuza. Hopefully they wouldn’t think to check here. 

Ryuji pressed open the door and the warm air inside pulled him in. He stood in the small lobby, his leg begging to give out beneath him. Fuck, it hurt. 

Moments later, a woman in a white coat appeared from the back. Doctor Takemi. Ryuji was actually relieved. 

He could barely speak. “Hey—“ 

“What the hell happened to you?” She spoke before him, although worry was completely absent from her voice. She sounded much more annoyed. Takemi started towards him, throwing an arm around his shoulders to steady him. 

“Um,” Ryuji blanked. “...I’m hurt pretty bad.” 

Takemi scoffed. She began to guide him into the examination room. “You are.” He flopped pathetically onto a clinic bed — he’d been here more times than he’d like to admit, but never bearing wounds from his own brothers. 

“Where’s Takeishi?” Takemi asked, turning her back on him for her desk. “Not even Nakaoka? You’re here alone?” 

“Yeah.” Ryuji muttered, unbuttoning his shirt and gradually slipping it off his shoulders. “I’m kinda… I’m screwed, Takemi. I fucked up pretty bad.” 

Takemi stilled for a moment. She turned back to him, brows furrowed. It was uncharacteristic of Ryuji to say something like that — admit he was at his weakest, even to her. Ryuji must have hit rock bottom to speak with her on these terms. “...Where is Shinya?” 

He bit his lip. He could taste blood in his mouth. Ryuji couldn’t answer that, even if his voice was willing him to cry out. 

“We um… We tried to run.” A beat. “I left him.” 

The room was suddenly dense. Over the pounding of his heart, Ryuji could barely make out her response. 

“Ryuji.” Takemi breathed. He could hear the ache in her voice. “Listen. I’ll treat you with what I can, but I can’t help you. If they find out I helped you, and if you’re in as much trouble as I think you are…” 

“No.” Ryuji spoke up. His voice was tinted with desperation as he tried to reason with her. He would be ashamed to call it begging. 

“...Takemi, I don’t have anywhere else to go. Fuck, I abandoned my own mom for this shit!” He balled his fists up in his hair. “You… You get it, right? Yakuza is my family. _Was_.” 

Ryuji’s breath was heavy at this point. His hands fell to the bed, those pathetic eyes peering straight into whatever sympathy Takemi had left. She was quiet for a moment, trying to take in the sight of a now desperate gangster. He was hopeless. 

“Ryuji.” Takemi’s jaw was tight, even as she let her defenses down. “One night. You can stay here, but only for tonight.” 

His eyes brightened. 

Takemi tried to distract herself, gathering disinfectants and cotton swabs. “I’ll do what I can with your serious injuries… But you know I can’t risk any longer. I’d like to keep my fingers.” 

The mention brought his eyes to his stubby finger. He almost laughed at the sight. “Yeah… I learned that the hard way, huh?” 

The air in the room seemed lighter, again. “You’re the last person I would expect to give up a finger for someone.” Takemi chuckled to herself. She leaned down, dabbing disinfectant over his open wounds. “For Shinya, though… To think they’d punish you so harshly over a kid.” 

“Um, yeah,” Ryuji seemed to trail off. He was thinking of Shinya again, and whatever ungodly discipline he was facing in his name. “He messed up. But, fuck, man… I panicked.” His breath was shaky trying to speak over his conscience. 

“I wouldn’t say I’d do the same thing,” She began cleaning the thick blood on his face. It was almost too intimate. “But running at least saved your hand. That still leaves you as an idiot of a yakuza, though, if there ever was one.” 

Ryuji tried not to think too hard about the back-handed insult — she usually spoke with a dagger, anyways. The mention reminded him of the pain in his leg, however. “Yo,” He glanced down at his swollen limb. “I think they fucked up my leg.” 

Takemi hummed. She leaned back to examine it, revealing in the light a dark bruise. It ached with forgotten pain. “It’s a pretty bad sprain, at first glance. I’ll wrap it and try to spare some pain relievers… But stay off it as much as possible.” 

His laugh was rather hollow. “Yeah… I might’ve ran on it pretty bad.” 

“Right.” Takemi returned with a fake smile. She clearly wasn’t thrilled about parting with medication meant for _real_ gang members. Ryuji would call it an emergency favor, then. 

Their conversation fell silent as Takemi focused. She wrapped his left leg, to much painful protest out of Ryuji — she expected a gang member to be able to handle pain much better than the pitiful display she was receiving. The gauze soon formed a secure barrier on his lower leg. 

With a bit more half-hearted pampering, Ryuji was mostly cleaned up. His clothes were still pretty beat, as was most of his body. But at least he was drugged up and in a bed for the night. 

Takemi was mostly finished up when Ryuji caught her attention again. “Hey,” 

She perked up. He was wearing a modest smile. “Thanks. Won’t say it again, but I really freakin’ appreciate the help.” 

That managed a brief laugh out of her. “Sure… It’s my job, you know.” 

Maybe the reality of the situation wasn’t too heavy on either of them yet, or both were simply tired. But those passive words seemed to fuel Ryuji’s hope again. In the matter of a day, Ryuji had lost everything he’d spent the better part of his adult years building. He had left so much behind for the life of crime and easy money, he’d sacrificed education and a traditional job — he had abandoned his mother. Ryuji had given it all, just to lose a finger and his artificial family. But it wasn’t over yet. 

With the flick of a light, Takemi was gone. The weight of sleep finally began to wash over Ryuji, and he laid in his stiff bed for relief. 

Tomorrow would suck, but he was beginning to come up with a sort of plan. 

  
  


…

  
  


It was past noon when Ryuji was forced awake. The lights above him had flickered on, washing his cozy space in a sterile white. He groaned. 

The doctor had returned, and she wasn’t taking pity on his nocturnal habits. “You’ve been here too long.” 

Takemi stood at the doorway, her brows knit in a stern expression. 

Ryuji’s body begged to remain horizontal, even on the shitty hospital bed. But he wouldn’t dare talk back to the sadist of a practitioner. “Right…” His voice was gross with sleep. He managed to force himself upright, in protest of his half-healed wounds. At least his leg wasn’t putting up nearly as much of a fight as the night prior — the pain was still present, but much more faint at the expense of the medication. 

His body was slow getting started, but he managed to tug on his shirt again, and put on his shoes. It took some convincing to shove his hurt foot into the sole. “Ow.” 

“Aw,” Takemi mocked him, to much of her smug delight. “Get out.” 

“I hear ya, I hear ya…” He grumbled. The force of standing sent a wave of pain up his spine, but he bit it down again. Ryuji started towards the door, and was stopped by a hand. It was holding a prescription bottle. 

“Here’s the rest of your medication.” Takemi told him, her voice remarkably softer at this point. “Put some food in you. Take no more than two a day.” 

“Yeah.” He took the bottle and shoved it in a pocket. Ryuji managed a smile. “Thanks, again.” 

Takemi seemed to return the gesture, before pressing past him in the doorway. “Stay safe.” 

  
  


…

  
  


The night had fallen once again when Ryuji was wandering the city. He had achieved a dinner, to his surprise, when he had found a few spare bills in his pocket. It was cheap, but it had curbed the hunger he’d been brewing over the hours. 

But now, he was left with a beat body and no home. Ryuji had spent most of his waking hours thinking; he was trying to formulate some sort of plan. For a few moments, he thought of returning to the yakuza and trying to amend for his crimes. The fear of being shot on the spot was overwhelming, however. Redemption wasn’t an option at this point. 

Ryuji could limp home to his mother. But, not only would she loathe seeing her son beg for forgiveness, that would put her in danger. Ryuji had witnessed the syndicate turn on innocent civilians before, and he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his mother in the same situation. 

He was left with one option, and something he could do rather well: theft. 

The evening in Shinjuku was prime with drunk tourists and naive bar-hoppers. Clubs in the area were overwhelmed with them, and Ryuji had experience in this work. Just out of high school, he had spent his first months in the yakuza carrying out petty crime. He was simply a grunt, protecting territory and scaring off anyone who got too close. He could return to his roots, right? 

Ryuji took notice of a particular club. It was teeming with people, either already drunk or tipsy enough to ignore his roughed up appearance. He started pressing through the crowd, the pounding of music gradually flooded his senses. Neon lights flashed and the hopping crowd clamored. If Ryuji were drunk, he’d probably find this place fun. But his sobered mind hated everything about it. 

Sitting at the bar, he spotted two foreign women, speaking loudly in slurred English. They laughed and drank. His eyes fell to their pockets — _bingo_. 

Ryuji came up, throwing his arms around the two women. He wore a false grin. “ _Good evening, ladies_!” His English was never very coherent, but it got the point across. 

The women gawked, one starting to shove him off her. “ _What the hell… Get off, asshole_!” 

He feigned a laugh, his hand dipping down to the right woman’s back pocket as he fell back. “ _Sorry, I’m looking for someone else_.” 

“ _Bye_!” The woman snapped in response, groaning to herself. They shared irked glances. 

Before either of them could catch on, Ryuji was gone in the crowd. He kept his fists tight, pressing urgently past the sea of booze and dancing. He later realized someone had spilled their beer on him — this bloody shirt was ruined, anyways. 

He emerged from the club, embracing the cool air outside. Taking a moment to the side, Ryuji opened his hand: car keys. He smiled to himself. 

Ryuji set about clicking the keys in the streets. He didn’t have much time to spare looking for his ‘new’ car, and was growing rather anxious about being spotted by the syndicate. However, before he was vulnerable for too much longer, Ryuji caught a beep down the street. 

He jogged lightly. All the traveling tonight was starting to stir the pain in his leg again, but he couldn’t spare another moment on the cold streets. Ryuji finally approached the beeping vehicle: a black Western style car, Mercedes, he guessed. It was certainly nicer than any other car he’d gotten the opportunity to drive before. 

A beat, then Ryuji was climbing into the car. He took a quick glance around, finding nothing but a few bottles in the cabin. Perfect. 

Without another moment, he turned out of the street parking and set off down the street. Ryuji had a new plan in mind. 

The city flew by outside the car. Ryuji took a shallow breath. He didn’t realize how much tension had been building up inside his chest, until he was finally alone in a safe place. Well, safer than on the streets. The car gave him the opportunity to travel with a bit more security than walking or taking the train, and that was enough for now. 

And right now, Ryuji needed to make a call. 

It took a moment for him to get used to driving right-hand, but he eased into it. He scanned the streets as he drove. Moments later, he pulled off to the side and jumped from the car. 

Ryuji rushed into a phone booth. He brought the phone to his ear, and tapped hastily at the number pad. 

  
  


…

  
  


ANN TAKAMAKI

23

It was cold. Her thin cardigan did little against the musty draft in the alley, but the warm inhale of smoke kept her at bay. She kept the cigarette to her lips, leaning against the wall of her storefront, watching the pedestrians pass her by. 

It was nearing closing of her barber shop in Shinjuku. Ann never got many clients past nightfall, so the hours before close were usually spent cleaning and smoking. She wasn’t proud of her new habit — it left a bitter taste in her mouth — but a drag of tobacco was preferable to doing nothing. 

Ann was preparing to head inside again, when a tall man approached her. He was wearing business attire, right down to the ironed slacks, when he smiled at her. “You still open?” 

She stubbed out her cigarette. “For another hour, I am.” 

“I could go with a quick trim.” His hand gestured to his facial hair, shaved neatly along his jawline. Ann quirked an eyebrow. Most men came to her shop asking for a full cut, but this man appeared far too clean to be looking for a cheap barber. 

She didn’t think too hard about it. “Okay, come on in.” 

Ann pressed open the door, letting him enter the warm space. The shop wasn’t very big, in all honesty, but it was private and cozy. She had spent quite a bit of time fixing up the shop, all from the faded windows to the broken A/C. It was nicer than when she’d acquired the space three years ago, anyways. 

The man sat himself in the barbers chair before the mirror, letting Ann throw a salon cape over his shoulders. She stepped to the side to gather herself. “You’re a new face around here. What’s your name?” 

“Takeishi.” He responded, leaning back into the leather. 

Ann sat on that name for a moment. It sounded faintly familiar, maybe from high school, but she couldn’t put a pin in it. She continued, grabbing a fine shaving razor from her collection. “You look too nice to be out in Shinjuku at this hour. Are you on some kind of business?” 

She could hear his smile in his voice. “Something like that, yeah.” 

Ann hummed. She stepped up to him, tilting his head back in the seat. His eyes watched her as she gathered his grown facial hair, gradually trimming at it with the razor. “Your name?” 

“Ann.” She responded bluntly, seeming focused on her task. 

He smiled again. “That’s foreign, isn’t it? Where are you from?” 

Ann had to go through this spiel with every new client. “I grew up here. My dad is American.” 

Takeishi seemed unsatisfied with that answer, but he didn’t mention it. He adjusted in his seat, the salon cape falling a few inches from his shoulders. Ann paused to readjust it, when her eyes stilled. Just below his neckline, a mural of tattoos was crawling up his skin. She stared. 

He noticed. But he didn’t seem to care. “Ann, do you know of a man named Ryuji Sakamoto?” 

Her eyes met his, wide and full of nerve. His expression remained unbothered. Ann didn’t answer — she knew what he was really here for. 

“See, Sakamoto is associated with my organization. He’s run off, and we’re having a bit of trouble contacting him. That man has some debts.” Takeishi continued. His voice was flat, almost unnervingly unmoved. 

Ann slowly stood straight again. Her mind was racing, trying to think of how her name got tangled in this mess. While they were close friends ever since high school, she hadn’t spoken to Ryuji in at least a few days. Ann has no idea where her friend could be right now, or what even happened to him. But she knew this situation screamed danger. 

Takeishi sat up a bit in the seat. “I’ve heard of you before, you know.” His hand was moving, but too gradually to notice. “That name of yours… Ann.” 

She felt something on her thigh. His hand. The razor in her grip fell to the floor. 

Without even thinking, Ann threw her hand across his cheek in a firm smack. Her face was twisted with outrage — if she was going to be dragged into this yakuza drama, she wasn’t about to let this prick touch her. Ann opened her mouth to snap at him, but Takeishi was moving before she could respond. 

Moments after he was smacked, Takeishi stood abruptly from his seat, tearing the cape from his shoulders. His build was alarmingly large. Ann dropped to the floor, racing to grab the razor again. She gripped it and braced herself against the opposite wall, wielding the razor in front of her with trembling fists. 

Still, Takeishi pursued her. He came at Ann and shoved her against the wall, struggling to rip the razor from her hands. Ann let out a shriek as she kicked and battled with his strength, one hand pressing at his chest to ward him off in vain. Her mind was dazed. 

The movement came naturally; Ann thrusted the razor blindly into the air. She hit something, and she heard a scream. A gross crush of flesh. Ann was blinded with red. 

Takeishi hit the floor, his cries drowned out with blood. The slice through his throat was deep, and red painted the tile. The stained razor fell from her hand. 

Ann stared. He struggled to breathe for a few fleeting moments, limbs twitching and eyes wide with terror. His hand tried to reach for something on his side, but it was all too quick, and his eyes glazed over. 

The shop was silent. The usual noise of the city was absent, not even the ambient hum of the building could comfort her. Ann was deafened by her heartbeat, pounding in her ears like a wardrum. Her eyes were stuck on the scene in front of her: a warm body of her fault. The man she killed so easily. 

And like that, Ann was on the floor. She tore her cardigan from her shoulders and tried soaking up the blood in vain. It was all over her hands, her shirt, her face. His body was still twitching, but all Ann could think about was the tile blackened with red and death. She abandoned her cardigan, curling in on herself. She killed him and earned herself a death sentence all within the same action. 

All she could do was stare, for hours it felt like. Her ears were ringing and tears were building up in her red eyes. Ann didn’t want to do this; she never wanted to be caught up in the syndicate. Her eyes fell to Takeishi’s hand, left like a statue, still reaching for his waist. She reached out and lifted his shirt out of pure curiosity: a pistol, tucked in his waistband. Fuck, he could’ve killed her. 

Then, a ring sounded out within the shop. Ann’s heart jumped and then froze. The landline was ringing, cutting through the silence. Her mind was sent racing — who the hell was calling right now? No clients, no commitments, nothing that could warrant the horrible timing of this call. Then, Ann thought back to the few words the body had told her. There could be only one man calling her right now. 

Ann scrambled to her feet and landed at her desk. She threw the phone to her ear, praying it was him. 

“Ann.” He was out of breath. 

“Oh god,” She stammered, her knees giving out to sit on the cold tile. It would be an understatement to say she was relieved. “Ryuji.” 

He spoke over her. “Ann, listen. I’m in Shinjuku, but I can’t stay here. I have to leave—“ 

“What the fuck happened?” Ann interrupted, her voice suddenly cracking to life. 

“Fuck,” Ryuji breathed. She could tell he was at a phone box. “They got to you… I’m sorry, Ann.” 

“Okay, yeah, but why did a yakuza just show up at my shop? What the hell did you do, Ryuji?!” Her voice was loud, louder than it should be. She was furious, both at Ryuji and herself. 

“I… I tried to run. With Shinya.” He spoke, but it was broken. She could barely hear him. “I didn’t mean to let this affect you, I swear…”

“Get over here. _Now_.” 

Ann dropped the phone, letting it sway from her desk without bother. She stood and tore curtains over her shopfront windows, flipping the hours sign to _closed_. Her heart ached. She knew she wouldn’t be coming back to this place. 

Tears were falling from her cheeks as she ran around the shop, shoving things into a bag. Anything she might need: cash from the register, the various contents from her purse, cigarettes. She collected whatever she could carry. 

After washing most of the stains on her hands, Ann stilled for a moment. Her eyes returned to the body, lifeless and cold. His face was blue and his eyes wore a dead stare at the ceiling. Her breath caught in her throat. The gun. Take the gun. 

She was on her knees and ripped the pistol out from under his belt. It was heavy in her hand, a dull chrome that reflected the fluorescent lights above. Kanji was engraved into the handle. 

Ann could’ve sat there for hours, if not for the banging on the front door that grounded her in reality again. She crammed the gun into her shoulder bag and was on her feet. 

At her door, Ryuji. He looked like shit. Ann flicked the lights off and the door flew open. She locked it from the outside, and the pair were off down the narrow strip. The winter air had full exposure to her now, but she ran with Ryuji to the peak of the alley, busy with the crowds of the night. He threw himself into a black car parked adjacent to them — where did he get a car? She joined him in the passenger seat, regardless. 

Ryuji tore off into traffic. They were silent for a long while, breathing the dense air in the car in short gasps. Their eyes were plastered on the road. 

“I killed him.” Ann spoke, breaking the tension. 

Ryuji stole a glance at her. “Yakuza?” He asked, but he already knew. 

“Yeah.” Her voice was quiet, as if the realization was hitting her now. “His name was Takeishi.” 

He cursed under his breath. His knuckles on the wheel went white. “I knew him.” 

Ann finally looked at him. His hair was matted, a red bandage held the bridge of his nose together. He was missing a finger. Yeah, he was beat. “He knew you, too.” 

“Yeah, they’re looking for me…” Ryuji trailed off. “You’re on the list too, now. And they’ll find us if we don’t get out of Tokyo.” 

Ann brought her knees to her chest, her eyes watching something out the window. “Where are we going?” 

“I have an idea, kind of.” He responded, seeming unsure of himself. “Osaka, if we can make it there.” 

They were racing down a vacant road, now having left the busy districts of the city behind. It was empty and quiet, all except for the roar of the engine. 

Ann opened her mouth to respond, when something appeared in front of the car. She only had time to scream, when Ryuji tried to swerve and break all at once. A figure. 

There was a hard impact against the front bumper. The car was forced to a stop, a screen of steam coming from the wheels. 

A body laid in the street before them. 


	2. HIDE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuji and Ann hit someone. He’s kinda weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! thanks for your patience with this chapter, this semester is pretty busy but I had time after midterms to finish this chapter up :))
> 
> hope you enjoy! <3

AKIRA KURUSU

22

It was dark. 

His eyes gradually opened, and he was met with his dim ceiling. He could’ve sworn he was supposed to wake up in the morning. It was night, wasn’t it? 

Akira laid in his apartment, basked in a gloomy dusk. It should’ve been quiet, but he’d left the radio on somewhere. The city outside was loud. Everything was too loud, and it made his head spin and his stomach turn. He reached up, running a hand through his unkempt hair. His skin burned to the touch. Akira decided he was too awake to be sober. 

The radio grew louder as he forced his body upright, guiding his eyes to his desk. Some random station was playing pop music on loop. The clock beside his bed read  _ 2:15am.  _ It was late, but he couldn’t return to sleep without something to wet his tongue. Akira retrieved his glasses — the visual clarity helped with his insistent migraine. He found his feet, the sluggish weight of hangover and exhaustion nearly buckling his knees, but he still managed to wander out of his room. 

Akira drifted into his kitchen. He didn’t bother turning the lights on. Almost too easily, he found the fridge, tossing it open. The sudden light left his eyes stinging, and he kept them narrowed as he browsed the few items inside. A few boxes of styrofoam leftovers, various cans of light beer, one lonely ketchup bottle. Then, a bottle of clear liquor. Akira snatched it from the shelf and threw the door to a close. 

He didn’t really bother with reading the label. He upcapped it, and tossed it to his lips. At first, there was a burn down his throat, with an aftertaste of cheap liquor. Akira shook his head in an attempt to mellow the taste. Then, a warm sensation sank into his belly. It ran up into his head, leaving him blissfully alert and lucid. 

The feeling followed him to the couch, where he sat with the bottle, staring blankly at the television. Some news station was on, going on about the usual Tokyo nightlife drama. Akira sank into the cushions. The images on the screen left his attention as quickly as they came. 

The world carried on, the bottle emptied the longer Akira sat on that couch. He was out. The feeling in his gut was fading, and far too fast. It was unraveling a threshold of emotions, begging to spill out like a flood on his living room floor. 

He needed some air. 

…

  
  


It was cold as he left his apartment building. Akira walked down the sidewalk, passing by drunks and bums. His steps were unpredictable, and it was hard to stay in any certain direction down the street. 

The air felt nice in his lungs. He wasn’t sure if he’d even left his apartment the past few days, much less remember what he’d spent doing over these mindless weeks. He could recall reading a bit, maybe taking a few walks, but mostly drinking. A lot of drinking. 

Akira’s gut twisted. That really was all he’d managed to accomplish, huh? 

He suddenly felt a tense weight come on him. It first came to his chest, grinding at his joints and turning his stomach. Then, it rose into his head. Akira felt dizzy. He felt an intense wave of guilt, of self-loathing and a sick sensation of disgust in himself. He wanted to vomit, but the alcohol had nothing to do with it. 

Akira remembered one thing: this morbid feeling, this distasteful medley of emotions had visited him every night ever since coming home. Ever since his friends and family abandoned him, ever since his career decayed into an inescapable pit of unemployment. It was a sick game. 

On this night, however, it had struck him harder than every other night before. 

He felt heavy on his feet, stumbling to catch himself on a telephone pole. He gripped it with trembling hands. He couldn’t see. But he could hear loud and clear, and just down the street, the roar of an engine. 

The formerly cool air was now thick in his chest, leaving him breathless and panicked. His body was burning. He needed to escape it, he couldn’t bear thinking about anything but the fierce crave he desired. 

Akira didn’t remember stepping off the curb. 

  
  


…

  
  


It was dark. 

The first things that came to him were sounds: a sputtering engine, car doors clicking open, someone yelling. Following, he felt the sensations in his mouth. It was rusty and metallic, pooling in his throat. He spat and coughed — it didn’t taste good. 

Then, Akira felt it. An overwhelming pain in his spine, rippling through every bone and muscle, boiling in his blood and itching at his skin. He felt like he was on fire. He couldn’t move, until his vision finally filtered back in, like a bad camera struggling to focus. 

It was red. 

He was in the road. On the asphalt, he lay stiff in the middle of an intersection. There was a car a few yards from him, steam swelling from the tires, and doors ajar. Akira didn’t notice the strangers until one of them grabbed him by his jacket, forcing him to his feet. 

A man, at least he assumed. Akira couldn’t take in many of his features before the stranger promptly threw a punch at his jaw. He couldn’t help but laugh a bit. What the fuck did  _ he _ do? 

The man was yelling. Something along the lines of, “You fucking mental?!” 

Akira laughed harder. His body ached and burned, but this dude was just  _ so funny _ . 

“Stop!” A feminine voice sounded behind them. She kept shouting at him, and he briefly saw her struggle with the man to unleash him. Akira was suddenly dropped, and only then did he realize he could move on his own. 

His feet stumbled to keep his balance. Akira found himself wavering in the intersection, laughing his ass off and throwing his arms in the air. He was alive. He was just hit by a car and some divine force kept him  _ alive _ . This was the most eventful night of his life. 

Akira kept giggling, until he heard the voices continue. 

“What the hell do we do with him now, then?” The female voice. 

The other responded, “I dunno! ‘Eff it, man, let’s leave him.” 

“No, Ryuji. Don’t fucking do this to me. He’s drunk and  _ you  _ ran a car into him. I don’t want to end up with another body!” 

Akira turned towards them, still smiling. Oh, hey, his glasses. He nearly fell down a few times, but he managed to pick them up. He tuned in to their bickering again. 

“Okay, okay, stop freakin’ screamin’ at me! Put him in the goddamn car.” 

He stood alone for a few moments more. Akira felt something warm dripping from the crown of his skull, but he’d forgotten the sensation when the woman approached him. She took a hold of his arm. 

“Hey, walk with me.” She wasn’t shouting anymore. 

Akira nodded. They crossed the intersection, approaching the very car that had hit him moments ago. He followed, rather blindly, as the woman opened the door to the back seat. He collapsed into the warm interior, and once the leather seats had hit him, he felt the pain again. Ow. 

“Let’s go.” 

  
  


…

  
  


The sky’s grip on night was beginning to falter. The hints of dawn were brightening the horizon in dull pinks and violets. An atmosphere of smog was still present, though; they weren’t quite that far from the city yet. 

Ryuji’s eyes were dry with exhaustion. His gaze had been glued to the highway before him, stretching on into the suburbs of Tokyo. It was still monotonous with concrete and the subtle buzz of city life, but to much less of a degree as Shinjuku. Yakuza would have a harder time finding them. 

He briefly glanced up at his rear view mirror. A sleeping body laid in the back, limp like a corpse on the old leather. The man’s skin was blackening with bruises on a sickly pale, and his hair was a mangled mess on his head. But, he still seemed pretty pleased with being asleep. He was the stranger they’d recently acquired, much to Ryuji’s displeasure; they didn’t have time to be babysitting a drunk. Still, the dude ended up with the same assholes who ran him over. 

It was a cocktail of smells in that car. Ann’s perfume, some kind of liquor, the stench of old pot from the car’s previous owners. It gave Ryuji a headache. He also caught a whiff of gasoline, wafting in from the tired engine. That reminded him. 

Ann was beginning to stir from her restless nap as Ryuji pulled into a gas station, just off the highway. It was still an odd, quiet hour, so it was safe to refuel at that time. The car protested with every meter it drove, but it eventually crept to a stop, parallel to a pump. Ryuji would have to beg some bills out of Ann to cover for gas. 

Killing the engine, he stepped out from the driver's seat. It was still cold; colder, even, in the ass-crack of morning. He stole glances around the gas station; the place was closed, and not a stranger was in sight. Birds were beginning to sing. A car would pass by on the highway every once in a while, but it wasn’t anything to be bothered with. With his nerves now eased, Ryuji bit off the chill and started towards the pump. He’d just have to guess whatever kind of gas this thing took. 

As he settled the nozzle into the kcar, Ann had pressed open the door. Ryuji saw a puff of smoke, and Ann followed, gradually getting to her feet on the pavement. It was quiet, even between the pair of them. She had been sleeping as Ryuji drove, although the quality of her nap was questionable, judging from her dead gaze. 

“I’ll need you to cover gas.” Ryuji spoke up. His arms had folded across his chest, perhaps to conserve warmth. He probably should find a change of clothes. 

Ann brought her cigarette from her lips. Smoke left with her words. “Sure, whatever.” 

She leaned back into the car, shuffling through her bag of things she’d managed to grab. Fortunately, cash wasn’t hard to find, and Ann tossed him a few bills. She didn’t seem bothered with parting from her cash whatsoever. 

“I wish I’d been able to bring more stuff.” Ann mentioned, somewhat to herself. 

Ryuji hummed, sort of in agreement. He wasn’t really in the mood to dwell on yesterday’s tragedies. Instead, he leaned against the side of the car, letting his eyes rest. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until that moment; he sunk into the cold metal and embraced the short doze. They would need to grab a motel soon, or they’d all be sleeping in the car. 

Gas. He needed to finish that. 

When he opened his eyes again, Ann was on her second cigarette. She was staring through the back window, at the stranger in the back seat. “What do you think his name is?” 

His eyes still hurt, but he scoffed a bit. “I dunno, probably  _ ‘dumbass’ _ . Or  _ ‘sleeping beauty’ _ ... Haven’t heard one word out of him.” 

Ryuji caught a glimpse of a smile from her. “We should probably talk to him soon, right?” She spoke up. “He’s really messed up…” 

“We should just effin’ dump him at a hospital, or whatever…” Ryuji’s tone had shifted. “I don’t wanna have to deal with some dead-weight drunk.” 

“ _ Ryuji _ .” Ann’s glare was suddenly on him. “I’m being serious! I don’t want to—… We shouldn’t leave him on his own. This guy needs help.” 

“Yeah, cuz we fuckin’ ran him over.” 

“ _ You  _ ran him over.” She jabbed an accusatory finger into the air. “This dude walked out into the street and  _ you  _ hit him. Own up to that, got it?” 

Ryuji pursed his lips into a frown. Their friendship had always been double-edged; he was stubborn, and Ann was even more-so. Neither ever had the willpower to bend to the other, even if it was the truth. But now… With a suicidal drunk in their backseat and a bounty on their heads, Ryuji had to cave to some sort of demand. Ultimately, this was all his fault. 

“...Okay.” His voice was heavy. “Fine, sure. I’ll take the blame for this dude… I’ll keep him from offing himself, yeah?” 

Ann’s gaze seemed to soften at his words. The mention of suicide; it was immediate. Ryuji realized he’d struck a cord from their high school days: her best friend, her sweetheart of a crush, Shiho. There had been some sort of incident with her. She had ended up in the hospital. No one talked about it much, and he had never bothered to ask Ann much about it. Ryuji knew it was a touchy subject in her past. 

Silence fell between them. It was a quiet agreement: the stranger, just like the pair of them, was on the run. He’d been rather forcefully introduced into this criminal, renegade life. It was still better than cold, rough asphalt, and an unsatisfied regret. 

The ambience of the suburbs fell between their conversation. A hum from the highway, the settling creaks of the car, a few words from lonely birds. And, a meow. 

They had both heard it, but it was quickly forgotten. A stray cat, probably. 

_ Meow.  _

This time, it was more desperate, and loud. Ann and Ryuji shared glances. It sort of sounded like… 

_ Meow.  _

It was coming from the car. Ann promptly tossed her cigarette, starting to scan the interior of the car for any sign of the source of the meowing. 

“That’s… Is there a cat in there?” Ryuji muttered in disbelief. He retrieved the nozzle from the car, returning it to the pump as he watched Ann quizzingly. 

“It sounds like it!” Ann huffed. She was opening doors, craning her head to peer under seats and around corners. All the while, the meowing persisted. Then finally, Ann popped the trunk. 

With a yelp, Ann found herself catching the loud stowaway that leapt from inside the trunk. A black and white tuxedo cat, still shouting as it pawed at Ann in her arms. Ryuji suddenly burst into laughter. 

“The effin’ trunk! How the hell did you get in there, dude?” He was at Ann’s side, peering at the stray. 

The cat ignored him, instead begging Ann for affection and warmth. His purrs roared like the hum of a motorcycle. The poor thing looked cold, and definitely hungry. “He was stuck in there…” Ann was smiling as she pet him. She certainly was sympathetic for the pitiful thing. 

Ryuji laughed a bit, but the trunk caught his attention more than the cat. A pair of fat duffel bags, seated in the direct center. His curiosity nipped at him and he tugged at one of the zippers. 

“Holy fucking shit.” 

Cash. Lots of it. In bundles, bills laid in stacks within the duffel. And just at a glance it was thousands. 

Ann nearly dropped the cat. 

Ryuji immediately slammed the trunk shut. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears; even as a yakuza, he’d  _ never  _ seen that much raw cash in his life. And it only meant one thing. Not only had Ryuji pissed off the most powerful syndicate in East Asia, he’d just stolen  _ a lot  _ of drug money in addition. 

Ryuji had made more enemies. 

  
  


… 

  
  


They were on the road again. The car lurched on the pavement with every acceleration, the landscape around them a buzzing blur. Ryuji was speeding; he just needed to get far enough out of the city to fall asleep without the fear of execution. Ann was perched next to him, puffing her cigarette like a chimney. Something about the anxious cloud in the car was a shared, communal comfort. 

As for the stranger in the back, however, he was still asleep. The cat they’d foraged from the trunk was curled happily on the dude’s chest. It was probably recovering from a cold night, trapped in the car. Ryuji still didn’t quite know how that thing had gotten in, but he didn’t have the will to guess anymore. 

The highway, for a moment, clogged up with the morning rush, but they were quickly in the rural outskirts of Yokohama. Every once in a while, they’d see the occasional seagull. They were just miles from the pacific coast. 

Finally, just as the sun fully embraced the morning sky, Ryuji was starting to ease off his fear. A sign off the highway promised a cheap hotel at the next exit, and he didn’t care how sketchy the worn-down advertisement appeared to be. His eyes were straining every time he even blinked. 

The trio — and a cat, apparently — pulled up to a trashy motel in a small, rural village. The morning trains rumbled behind them; the place was situated directly next to the train station, of which was mostly empty, save for the trains darting for the big cities. 

Ryuji and Ann seemed to mutually agree that Ann would take care of the checking in process. She was the most put-together out of all of them, conscious or not. 

  
  


…

  
  


He hit the bed. Instant relief. 

The night had tortured his body, both literally and figuratively. Even on a crappy bed, Ryuji felt his muscles soften and ease into the cushions; his wounds, previously ignored, finally got their chance to ache and unwind after hours of tense worry. He let out a happy breath. 

Ryuji would’ve fallen asleep immediately, if not for his promise to wait for Ann to return. She had taken it upon herself to run out to grab them all food, but Ryuji wouldn’t allow himself to sleep without knowing she was safe again. His beauty slumber would have to wait. 

He turned onto his side, taking in the room around him. It was dim still, even in the morning light, and the sterile walls and decor didn’t quell any nerves. There were two double beds, however, so that would be enough for the three of them. 

Ryuji’s eyes fell to the other bed. Another body laid, his chest rising and falling in a painfully gradual manner. The cat was curled up in his side. Getting the stranger into their room took  _ way  _ more effort than it was worth — the dude kept dead-weighting in their arms; Ann nearly ate shit — but he’d eventually made it into a bed. Ryuji had already searched his pockets, but the guy didn’t even have a wallet on him. Nothing to name him… Not even any gas money. 

He found himself staring for a while. There was exhaustion in his eyes, peeking out from the back of his head, leaving his eyelids fluttering. Ryuji stopped fighting it, and a wave of sleep trickled through his body. Ann would be fine, he thought. Just a few minutes...

“Hey,” 

He faintly heard a voice. It was unfamiliar, though, and Ryuji decided to ignore it. Something felt warm on his face. 

“ _ Hey.  _ Your nose.” 

Oh. Ryuji’s eyes opened in a beat, and a tentative hand reached up to feel his worn face. Sure enough, his nose had decided to awaken him with a cascade of blood. He didn’t bother thinking about why it could’ve happened. 

He groaned as he sat up. “Damn.” Ryuji muttered to himself. His hand began blindly searching around the nightstand, striking every odd thing in its path before it found a tissue box. He pressed a tissue to his nose. 

It wasn’t until Ryuji’s strained eyes finally came into focus did he realize who the voice came from. The stranger, still a mangled mess, was laying flat on the bed parallel to him. The stray cat was rumbling happily on his chest as he stroked it softly. 

“Yo,” Ryuji’s voice had to be rather loud. The sound of a train was a muffled roar behind the motel. “You’re awake.” 

The dude didn’t bother responding, but there was some kind of smartass smile on his lips. 

“You freakin’ talk?” He wouldn’t care to admit that he was getting a bit frustrated with this stranger. Ryuji would’ve been happy to leave the guy on that midnight street; hell he’d even take the time to drop him off at some backdoor clinic. His demeanor was strange, as well… He was oddly calm for having woken up in a random rural motel with a yakuza and a cat. 

Ryuji glared for a minute or two. The dude was completely content with petting that damn cat. 

“Tell me your name, bro.” His voice wasn’t as abrasive this time. 

At least the stranger had managed to look at him this time. His face was a mosaic of bruises and pale, sickly skin. A neat trail of blood had matted onto his forehead. For some reason, he was still wearing his cracked glasses. Did those even work anymore? 

“Don’t you have one?” He finally answered. His voice was low…  _ Very _ low. It sent a shudder down Ryuji’s spine. But his snarky response still pissed him off. 

The audacity of this guy, he thought. Ryuji glanced down at his bloody tissue before responding, albeit reluctantly. “Ryuji.” 

The stranger suddenly broke into an amused smile. “You’re the one who ran me over.” 

He remembered that, as it turns out. Ryuji felt unnerved. Who knows how much this stranger knows about their night; he could know a multitude of details about him and Ann’s escape plan. He could be some sort of agent, for all Ryuji knew. He felt his face heating up with a shade of angry red. 

“You’re the drunk prick who walked in front of my car.” He spat, bunching up the tissue in his hands and tossing it on the carpet. “I dunno how much you remember about last night, but listen,” 

Ryuji stood from the bed. He was dizzy for a moment, but the heat firing in his head redirected his focus. “You’re not gonna be sayin’ anything about it, yeah? I’ll hear every word that comes outta your mouth.” He was edging on yelling, only letting the hints of a snarl tear through his words. 

If the yakuza got any word on their location, they’d be dead in hours. 

Usually, when speaking to any ‘civilian’ in his gangster demeanor, they’d shrink away like puppies and whimper forgiveness. Ryuji never had trouble with those who cowered at his snappy attitude. But, the dude didn’t even look like he’d been listening. 

The stranger was moving. He lifted the cat, pressing it into Ryuji’s arms without a word. He proceeded to stand on his own, just fine, and limp off for the bathroom. 

“The hell…” Ryuji muttered, letting the cat drop from his arms. “What’re you doing?” 

“I gotta shower.” He responded, running a hand through his knotted mop of hair. 

He stared as the stranger promptly tugged off his shirt. Ryuji first noticed the same mural of purples and tannish greens, painted with mawkish scabs and dried blood. He certainly wasn’t morbidly injured, but that shit probably still hurt. He didn’t seem bothered. 

The second thing Ryuji noticed was how lean and toned he was, regardless of the whole getting-hit-by-a-car-while-wasted thing. His body was edging on skinny and having just enough fat… It didn’t look healthy, but he certainly didn’t look  _ bad _ . He had to tear his eyes away when the stranger began undressing below the belt. Don’t be creepy. 

  
  


… 

  
  


Akira shuddered as he stepped onto the old, damp tile of the shower. The cold water hit him like a train and seemed to bring his body to life again, his skin crawling with filth and blood. A deep red fell from his body and disappeared down the drain. 

It hurt a lot. The ache of his bruises, the sting of his few exposed wounds, the pounding behind his eyes. None of it hurt as bad as that damn addiction, though. He felt it clawing at his gut, all the way up to the tender nerves in his tired brain. Akira needed a drink to numb it all. 

For now, though, he’d distract himself with the cold shower. 

It felt like ages before the grime lifted from his skin and he felt thoroughly clean. Akira emerged from the small bathroom to the familiar smell of cheap food. He was holding a thin towel above his hips, and he was greeted by the same woman from the night before, and that man. Reiji? No, Ryuji. That was it. 

They both were sitting on a bed, chowing down on some takeout burgers. The cat was eating out of a can of tuna on the floor. The pair glanced up at him with beaten and tired eyes. 

“Here,” The woman took a moment to toss a grocery bag at him, landing messily in his arms. “Get dressed and eat. We’re not staying much longer.” 

He opened the bag to find a generic outfit: a solid shirt, some boxers and a pair of jeans. They all looked too big for him but he wasn’t complaining. 

“Thank you.” Akira responded. He was genuinely surprised by her hospitality, given neither of them even knew his name yet. Ryuji seemed like a different story, however. He had barely acknowledged him before finishing off his burger. 

He dismissed himself to the bathroom to throw on the clothing — the shirt was fine, while the jeans sagged on his hips quite a bit — and join them on the other bed. He stole a burger and half-heartedly nibbled on it. 

“I’m Ann.” She spoke up and offered him a gentle smile. “Sorry about, uh. Hitting you with our car.” 

Akira couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s fine.” He shrugged it off, his gaze floating around the room absentmindedly. He noticed Ryuji had changed clothing as well. Ann was pretty considerate for going out of the way to make them all feel a bit more comfortable… While it wasn’t his preference to have burgers for breakfast, the thought alone was painfully gracious. 

“You seem way too chill with  _ any  _ of this, dude.” Ryuji mumbled between bites. “What’s your deal?” 

Akira looked up again. They both seemed puzzled with him, actually. He had to think about that himself for a moment. The past months all seemed like a blur of lethargy and nothingness… He couldn’t think of the last time he’d spent so much time with other people, besides prior to his return home. The previous 24 hours had been more eventful than even his last birthday. 

“I’m having fun.” He admitted. It was sort of a white lie, as none of this was particularly enjoyable, but at least it was exciting. “Also, I like your cat.” 

The pair shared a glance of bewilderment. Ann laughed uncomfortably. “Um, he’s a stray.” 

Ryuji’s face was twisted with disbelief, and he still looked kinda pissed off. That guy always seemed to be scowling. “You’re gone, man…” He shook his head and took another bite of his burger. “Whatever… As long as you don’t get us into shit.” 

Now, that confused him a bit. They could very easily dump him off somewhere and abandon him for the road. But something was keeping him here, stuck in this mess of a triad. Akira was skeptical, but only for a moment. He realized he didn’t care. He’d been in worse places. 

The rest of their meal was in relative silence, someone had turned the TV on at one point. It mumbled in the background as the sun crept higher into the sky. Around noon Ann and Ryuji had effectively passed out on their bed. They’d both been exhausted, he could tell from the deep dark under their eyes. 

Akira was laying on his bed, watching the images flicker by on the television. The cat had curled up on his chest again, purring at his gentle touches. He was left in his quiet thoughts, reflecting on the muffled memories from his little time with these strangers. 

He could remember his thoughts on that sidewalk. Drunk, heavy with despair and helplessness. Akira couldn’t remember having any motivation that night. Maybe he wanted to walk in front of their car. Maybe it was a genuine mistake. Maybe, perhaps, it was something like fate. 

Maybe this all wasn’t too bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the following chapters are gonna be pretty busy, so I hope you enjoyed this little downtime before everything goes to hell :) 
> 
> thank you for reading! <3


	3. SEEK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang figures out a plan. Akira gets a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M ALIVE. 
> 
> hello :) glad to be back. this chapter was difficult to figure out, so it took very long to decide where I wanted to go with this.   
> anyways, I really appreciate all the love this story has gotten so far. this fic has been my absolute favorite to write... and I adore hearing your reactions and reading your comments <3   
> thank you everyone!! 
> 
> in conclusion: it’s gonna get crazier and gayer
> 
> p.s.: there is a perspective shift in the middle of this chapter, in case my writing is too confusing lol. it goes from Akira to Ryuji, just take notice of how the narration addresses the characters (aka Ryuji still doesn’t know Akira’s name LMAO)

He felt numb. The light that surrounded him was sharp and intense. It beat down on him, swarming his skin with an itching filth and blinding vulnerability. It tried to be sunlight, but it strayed so far from the warm embrace of the sun. Then there was the concrete. It was cold and stiff; no matter where he laid his body ached and he begged to feel the comfort of cushion. His mouth felt dry and tacky. 

_ Ah, he was here again.  _

Akira, for a moment, remembered how this story would play out. But no matter how bittersweet the reminder of briefness was, his memory became a blur when the assault fell upon him. 

These figures wore the same stale uniform as him. It always started with one, pushing him around and getting on his nerves. Akira didn’t have the patience to ignore him. Every time, he threw the first punch, but it would always end in regret. Attackers fell upon him; it always felt like there were thousands of them, flooding through the concrete halls. They stole grabs at his limbs, took his hair in fists, pulled his panicked body to the ground. 

He could never run fast enough. 

  
  


_ Meow.  _

  
  


Akira woke with a jolt. He half expected to open his eyes to the tragically familiar fluorescent lights, but instead he was greeted by the cat. It sat on his chest, it’s tail swatting impatiently. He heard a happy purr, and the cat curled up on him again. 

He glanced around, and found his surroundings to be the same as when he fell asleep. The car running down the highway. Ryuji at the wheel, Ann in the passenger seat. Music rumbled faintly from the old speakers. Neither of them seemed to notice he had woken up from a startling nap, fortunately. 

Akira released a sigh, and the knot in his gut seemed to loosen a bit more. He was a bit sweaty, and his body still ached with old pain. But he was present. He was not where sober sleep had trapped him again. 

The backseat, while the leather was rather hard, invited him to relax. Akira found himself petting the cat that had taken residency on his chest, now less of a distraction from his thoughts and more of a welcome comfort. The cat was actually pretty okay, for apparently being a random stray. 

That reminded him. “Hey,” 

Ann and Ryuji looked back at him. They seemed surprised he was up and talking. 

“What’s his name?” Akira asked, less of a question and more of a request. 

Ryuji chuckled. His eyes were on the road again. “Yeah, so you won’t tell us  _ your _ name, but y’wanna know the freakin’ cat’s name.” 

“Uh, should we even name it?” Ann adjusted in her seat to peer over the cat and its captive. 

“Of course we should.” Akira scratched at its ears. “He’s one of us.” 

“So there’s an ‘us’ now, yeah?” He could hear the temper in Ryuji’s voice. “That thing is yours, dude. You’ve been makin’ out with it all day.”

“He’s just lonely…” Akira pouted, but he was smiling. 

“He is. You should name him ‘Cuddly’.” Ann was laughing a bit. Akira still couldn’t quite get a pin on her personality, since she always seemed to be bickering with their driver, but she was certainly nicer than him. At least someone was trying to keep them together. 

Akira hummed. “No, something more poetic…” 

“Shit, the cat’s a shrink too!” Ryuji was getting on his nerves. 

Ann caught on. She smacked his shoulder, giving him a scowl. “You’re a prick.” 

“Ah, I've got it.” He declared as he sat up, cradling the cat in his lap. “Mona.” 

Ann’s attention had returned to him. “Mona? What’s that?” 

“Like the painting… Mona Lisa.” Akira smiled at her. He was mostly joking, but the name had a ring to it. 

“Dude…” Ryuji was laughing at his point. He barely kept his eyes on the highway. 

Ann didn’t even spare him a glance. “It’s cute!” She reached into the backseat, stroking at the cat’s fuzzy fur. The thing was in absolute bliss; it was like he knew all the attention was on him. 

Akira couldn’t help his grin. “Yeah, it works.” 

  
  


…

  
  


The road stretched on. Yet, it wasn’t long until they reached Osaka, and the car fell into heavy tension. Ryuji tried his damn hardest to drive normally—as much as a dropout with no license  _ could  _ drive normally—to avoid any prying suspicions on their flashy car. Ann kept her eyes on the streets, scanning every pedestrian who seemed to look at them longer than necessary. Her knuckles were white as she gripped her bag. 

They were in prime Yakuza territory, being so close to Kobe. They couldn’t let their guard down. 

Akira didn’t seem to catch on to the unmentioned threat, however. He kept his head pressed against a window, only passively paying attention to the bustle of the city around them. It was just like Tokyo, after all. Just a few more seagulls here and there. 

They passed straight through the city without incident, fortunately. And just as quickly they were driving down the cove. Akira watched the evening settle in above the ocean. Ann lit a cigarette. Ryuji steered the car with a lazy hand. 

Soon, they finally escaped the traffic of the city as they drove into a sleepy coastal town. The dim lamps led them through the narrow streets, with only a handful of simple locals walking about. They seemed to gawk at the showy vehicle that was touring their little fishing town. 

“Think he’s ‘round here…” Ryuji mumbled to himself as he took a turn into a small neighborhood street. 

“Mhm, I remember it’s the house with a red door.” Ann leaned forward in her seat. 

Moments later, a modest village house fell into view. It was quite traditional, with dark shackles and wooden shutters, except for a rather modern red door. Their driver pulled the car into park. 

“Here.” Ryuji called out, before promptly getting out. Ann soon followed. Akira, realizing he had no idea where they were, soon joined them in the dusky residential street. The cat followed in his steps. 

Ryuji knocked on the door as soon as he arrived. The pair behind him followed slowly, with Akira being the most hesitant. There were a few moments of quiet, a stray cricket buzz, then finally muffled footsteps. 

The door opened to an older man with a greying buzz cut. Akira immediately noticed a tattoo on his neck, of what appeared to be a gecko. 

The man huffed, before he graced them with a bit of a smile. “Well, it’s been a while.” 

“Shit, thank  _ god  _ you’re here.” Ryuji sighed in relief and he returned the grin. “Figured an old dude like you would still be holed up in this place.” 

“Yeah? Come give this ol’ geezer a proper welcome, then.” He chuckled and opened his arms. Without another word, Ryuji fell into his embrace. Ann scrambled to join in, squeezing the man in a bear hug. Akira decided to hang back from the clearly affectionate affair. 

After a few moments of near-strangulation by the pair of blondes, the man managed to pry himself from them with a grin. “You must’ve had a long ass drive down here. Come inside.” He glanced up, finally seeming to notice the last member of the trio. “This some friend of yours?” 

“Oh,” Ann spoke up first, glancing between Akira and the man. “This is um, a hitchhiker we picked up… Along the way…”

Akira quirked a smile and gave a bit of a wave. 

“Right.” The man’s hands settled on his hips skeptically. “I’m Iwai. Get inside, kid. It’s freezing out here.” 

Tentatively, Akira nodded and stepped past the looming man into the home. The cat was quick on his heels. Inside, the design was generally traditional, with tatami mat flooring and various pieces of art. He took notice of a theme of dragons: statues, vases, painted scrolls. However, the centerpiece of the room was on the back wall. It was a dramatic display of an impressive  _ katana _ , perched on a shelf. Akira was starting to gauge what kind of guy Iwai was. 

“So, while I’m glad to see my street kids,” Iwai sat himself at the low table in the center of the room. “Why’re you both really here?” 

Ryuji and Ann shared a nervous glance. There seemed to be an unspoken tension between them, evident by the unwillingness for neither of them to speak. Reluctantly, Ryuji stepped forward and sat himself across from Iwai. A heavy shade of shame crossed his face as he raised his left hand; he revealed a mess of old bandages covering his stubbed pinky finger. 

Iwai’s affectionate demeanor immediately fell. “ _ Yubitsume _ …” He muttered to himself, almost in disbelief. It took a moment before he willed himself to speak again, his expression darkened with concern. “Ryuji. What did you do?” 

Ryuji couldn’t look Iwai in the eyes. “It was my fault, honestly.” He took a breath to collect himself. Akira couldn’t tell if he was haunted by guilt or by fear. 

“No fuckin’ shit, Ryuji. What the  _ hell  _ did you do?” Iwai glared at him. Any hint of hospitality in his tone had been erased. Ryuji seemed to curl in on himself, his hands locked together on the table. 

“You remember my  _ shatei _ , right? Shinya Oda?” Ryuji continued. “Well, um.. ‘Bout a week ago, he messed up. It was my responsibility to patrol with him, y’know, but I was bein’ lazy or some shit… Anyway, he got arrested. Spent the night in jail. I thought it was no big deal, but, um… Just a few days ago, Takeishi and some other guys told me that Shinya squealed. He told the cops about some deal the  _ Inagawa-kai  _ was workin’ on. I didn’t want Shinya to get effin’ killed, right? So, y’know, I gave them my finger, but…”

“It wasn’t enough.” Iwai finished for him. 

“Yeah.” Ryuji had balled his hands up in fists. The color was drained from his knuckles. “I panicked. We tried to run. I left Shinya behind.” 

Ann gently joined his side, kneeling at the table beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Yakuza came to my salon looking for him. So, Ryuji and I left Tokyo. We didn’t know where else to go.” 

The room was quiet. Akira stood far off by the door. This conversation wasn’t meant for his ears, yet he couldn’t help but observe the drama between these strangers. He was guilty of being curious. 

Iwai folded his arms, his face tense with concern. After a few moments he spoke again. “First of all, you can’t stay here.” He started. “They’ll find you here real quick. So, shit… Gimme a minute.” 

Iwai rose from the table and hurried into an adjacent room. They were left in a chilling silence for a few moments. Only the tattered breathing of Ryuji was heard. Then, Iwai returned with a large duffle bag. 

“So,” The bag fell with a  _ thunk  _ on the table. “Let’s call this a favor.” 

Ann reached out, pulling the bag open to reveal the barrel of a shotgun. She flinched at the sight, but Ryuji’s eyes lit up. “Dude…” 

“You’ll need to protect yourself if you’re gonna be on the run.” Iwai pulled out the shotgun, cradling the barrel and examining it. “This one’s something I hung onto… Before I left the syndicate. So, take care of her.” 

“Shit, of course.” Ryuji rose to his feet and Iwai handed him the gun. His eyes were glowing. “Man… I’ve only ever played around with pissy pistols ‘n shit. Thank you.” 

Iwai hummed, giving Ryuji something like a smile, before kneeling down again. “You lot can spend the night here, too. But you’ve gotta leave first thing in the morning.” 

“Where should we go afterwards…?” Ann finally spoke up. Her eyes kept flickering between Ryuji and the gun, clearly spooked. She didn’t come across as the kind to be afraid of guns, but perhaps it was because of the handler rather than the weapon itself. 

“That’s the tricky part.” Iwai let out a heavy breath. “The law is probably lookin’ for you, and no doubt the entire syndicate has put a hit on both of your heads. So…” He bounced his fingers against the wood in thought. “I guess just lay low until the dust settles.” 

“I know somewhere.” Akira spoke up. His voice seemed to split through some kind of unease in the air. 

Ryuji glanced up. He dropped the shotgun on the table, and crossed his arms. “What’s that, then?” 

“I’ve got a friend in Kagoshima.” Akira remarked. ”It’s a while south of here, but we’d be safe.” 

“That is a lot of distance…” Ann seemed to be considering his advice, albeit a bit hesitant. “But, we don’t have any other options… We  _ do  _ have a lot of cash to get us there.” 

Ryuji stood stiff. His expression was skeptical; clearly, Akira hadn’t quite proven his sincerity to the man yet. It made perfect sense to doubt Akira, from the perspective of a roughed up ex-yakuza. However, it also made perfect sense to apologize for running a stranger over. And yet no proper acknowledgements had been exchanged between the two. Ultimately, Akira seemed rather confident in his morals at that moment. 

“Fine. ‘K, we’ll go see this ‘friend’.” Ryuji finally tore himself from glaring at the other man. But the frustration remained burnt in his expression. “But  _ only  _ ‘cuz Yakuza barely hang out ‘round Kagoshima. Don’t think they’d find us all the way down there.” 

“Don’t get so cocky, kid.” Iwai snapped at him, but his tone was less irritable and more stern. “That kinda attitude is what lost you a finger. You can’t let your guard down.” 

“Fine, fine. I get it  _ dad _ .” Ryuji waved him off and fell to his knees once again. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, pouting all dramatically. For such a gangster, Ryuji sure was a diva. 

Finally, they cracked some smiles. The air in the room was becoming lighter again. It was feeling less hopeless and dreadful, and more like a playful banter between old friends. 

“Okay, well,” Ann sighed as she stuffed the shotgun back in the bag. “Iwai, have you made dinner yet? We can help out. It’s the least we can do.” 

“Nah, you kids get some rest. I’ll stick some noodles in a pot for ya.” The older man rose to his feet and turned to leave for the kitchen. “Oh, hey. Reminds me.” 

The trio perked up as Ryuji and Ann got to their feet. Iwai continued, “I’ve only got one spare bedroom, there’s a telephone in there too. But, I can also lay out some futons in here.” 

“Ann, take the bedroom.” Ryuji smacked her back. She let out some kind of squeal, and glared at him. 

“You’ve been driving all day, asshole. Take the bedroom.” 

“Nope. You need to call your effin’ girlfriend.” Ryuji sneered and Ann fell quiet. She crossed her arms. It was a silent agreement. 

It wasn’t long before the group fell into a comfortable silence. Ryuji sat himself on a pillow, and took to playing around with his new shotgun. The cat perched himself on the table. Ann supervised carefully, of course. 

Akira, as he usually did, began to wander. The home itself wasn’t something you could get lost in. It was modest and quaint. However, there was still a balance of random junk and impressive artwork. The place somewhat reminded Akira of a time in his past, when his own home felt safe and inviting. A place where he could frame pictures and paintings and fill his rooms with memory. That kind of home felt distant, now. 

Akira dismissed his thoughts. He found himself in the kitchen, watching Iwai slice up vegetables. No matter how quiet his footsteps were, the older man noticed him. 

“So, are you really some hitchhiker?” Iwai spoke without looking up. 

“No.” Akira answered bluntly. He didn’t have anything to hide, from his perspective anyways. “Ryuji ran me over.” 

Iwai stalled for a moment, only for his shoulders to shake abruptly in coarse laughter. “Damn!” He bellowed, glancing back at Akira. “Ah, sorry, sorry...” The laughter subsided for a moment. “That kid never could fuckin’ drive.” 

Akira couldn’t help but break a smile, and he shrugged. “I don’t exactly know either of them… At all.” 

“Well,” Iwai cleared his throat. He was still grinning. “I’ve known those two for a few years. Ever since Ryuji was a little ankle-biter. He never changed.” 

“I see.” Akira gradually padded around the room, his mind lost in thought again. Briefly, his eyes found themselves on a cabinet of liquor bottles. His gut turned. It must’ve been a few days since his last drink. Akira brought himself from the thought, instead keeping his gaze occupied with the other junk in the room. Soon, his eyes settled once again on a particular object among the clutter. “...What’s that?” 

Iwai looked up at him, following his curious gaze. It led him to a particular black bag on a bookshelf. “Y’mean the camera bag?” 

“Yeah.” Akira found himself wandering closer to it. 

“Hm, it’s a junked up Nikon model. I’ve been meaning to toss that old thing.” 

At that mention, Akira made quick work of unearthing the bag and its contents. It was a near pristine ‘83 model; something of which he was more than familiar with. He held the body carefully in his hands, cradling it like a brick of gold. It felt like a lifetime ago since Akira had held a camera. “...Could I keep it?” 

“That thing? Sure.”

  
  


…

  
  


Their dinner was kept brief, but it wasn’t a formal affair by any means. Iwai, Ryuji and Ann laughed over anecdotes and old memories, bellowing between messy slurps of udon. The topic of conversation seemed to be caught on playfully shaming Ryuji’s old habits, all while he adamantly denied his youthful mistakes. Once, Iwai recalled, Ryuji got arrested for vandalizing a police department. Ryuji feigned ignorance, claiming  _ how was anyone supposed to know some brick building was an effin’ police station _ , but Ann was already busting a lung.

They were all stories they were familiar with, of course. But reliving those blissful moments made visiting old friends worth it. Akira felt like a fly on the wall. 

Soon, their dishes were empty. Ann was already fading, mumbling between yawns about needing to phone someone named Shiho. She was quick to dismiss herself into the guest room. 

Iwai stayed a few moments longer than her to lay out the remaining futons. 

“Get a full night’s sleep. I wake up at 7am  _ sharp _ , and I ain’t gonna be your alarm clock.” Iwai stated, glaring at Ryuji. 

He rolled his eyes. “Sure, go get your beauty sleep old man.” 

Iwai looked like he wanted to knock Ryuji over his head, but instead turned on his heel. He was soon down the hallway and disappeared into a room. 

After that, it was quiet. Besides the muffled chorus of crickets, Akira and Ryuji prepared for bed in a stiff silence. Mona happily curled up on Akira’s futon, full of leftover tuna. 

Akira laid down. His eyes fixated on the texture of the ceiling. Until, a startled yelp cut through the quiet. 

He turned. Ryuji was sitting up, holding his left shoulder with gritted teeth. “‘Eff, man…” 

Akira started quizzically. 

Ryuji tore off his shirt, tossing it away to soothe his sore shoulder. He cursed again. However, he had revealed more than just an aching bruise. 

Even in the dim light, Akira could see the inky mural of tattoos on his skin. Bright reds, golds and teals curled around his bicep, forming abstract depictions of flowers and typhoons. It was a bold, vivid performance of status. 

In those brief moments, Ryuji finally seemed to notice Akira’s stare. “—Hell are you looking at?” 

“Your tattoos.”

“Yeah.” Ryuji scoffed. He feigned a scowl, but somewhere under his hard expression, Akira saw humanity. There was a sense of shame about himself. Somehow, it was inviting. 

He tentatively rose from his futon and found himself crossing the room. Akira drifted to his knees beside Ryuji, eyes fixated on his body. 

Ryuji, to his surprise, said nothing. 

“ _ Irezumi _ , right?” Akira muttered. 

Ryuji hummed. “Yeah. I only have a few, though.” 

Akira, against better judgement, reached out. His finger touched the skin of his upper shoulder, just barely. “What's this one?” 

“Yellow koi.” Ryuji replied dryly. “Um, it’s kinda like a companion or something. It was my first.” 

The man, for being so formerly stubborn, was being shockingly open. He wasn’t welcoming by any means, but at least he wasn’t trying to bite Akira’s head off. Perhaps it was the exhaustion. 

He stared for a moment, before his attention drifted to his chest. Akira initially noted how toned and muscular he was; it made sense, of course, being a big and scary gangster. It was still, admittedly, rather a nice sight. Underneath his flashy clothes, he wasn’t an intimidating sight. It charmed him. 

His finger pressed against his collarbone. 

“This one?” 

“Cherry blossoms.” 

“They’re not pink.”

Ryuji actually smiled. Or at least, something like it. “I never got it finished.” 

“Hm.” Akira pulled his knees to his chest. He found himself admiring, entranced by the complex textures on his skin. The waves of the koi married the twisty branches on his upper chest, tangling just below his neck. It was an effortless flow; a beautiful design, even if the blossoms were left uncolored. In another lifetime, perhaps Akira could’ve gotten tattoos. 

“I have one more.” Ryuji tore him from his stupor. “But, y’can’t see it.” 

“How come?” 

He pointed down.  _ Down _ . “I dun’ know you like that.” 

Akira stifled a laugh, hiding his face with his palm. He couldn’t help but notice the smile on Ryuji’s face. Some kind of tension was broken. He wanted to ask more, he wanted to uncover the authenticity beneath Ryuji’s tough exterior. Something was stopping him, though. An unfamiliar sense of timidity. 

They sat like that for a moment. Akira’s gaze began to fall from the man’s body, down to his feet. It almost felt too intimate to stare any longer. Next to him, Ryuji shifted as he stretched his shoulder. 

“M’ body’s screwed.” He muttered, mostly to himself. 

“Sleep.” Akira spoke up again. Less of a request, more of a demand. 

Ryuji stilled for a moment. “Why don’t you?” 

“I’ll get there.” Akira shrugged. He rose again, some old pain aching as he did so. The return to his futon was lazy and unmotivated. 

“Yeah, ‘cuz you nap so much anyways.” Ryuji had laid back down by the time Akira was settling in again. “Should be easy for you…” 

Akira eased into his blanket, careful not to disturb the cat beside him. He didn’t respond, and instead busied himself with watching the other man. It felt like a habit to constantly be on watch, especially at night. 

Ryuji shifted, rolling onto his other side. He could just barely see the details of his tattoos now; a fuzzy array of ink against a pale figure. The yellow koi peaked over Ryuji’s shoulder. Blank cherry blossoms danced beyond the crown of his neck. Akira stared blankly as his breathing slowed into a melodic rhythm, and eventually, he felt himself slipping. 

  
  


…

  
  


The following morning was a brisk farewell. 

The trio stuffed the trunk of the car with the gifts Iwai had given them: bags of extra toiletries, clothes and food. The weapons were stashed in the back seat, just in case. 

Iwai sent them off with an apathetic hug and a brief scolding on Ryuji’s part. It was kinda warranted, anyways, since he insisted on sleeping in for half an hour. 

Then, the road greeted them again. The stranger in the backseat had given Ryuji a general direction of his so-called friend in Kagoshima, enough to get them back on the highway. It would be a long trip, but the further they got from Tokyo and Kobe, the better. 

Admittedly, it was nice to get off of their nocturnal cycle as well. Driving well-rested in the morning was a welcome pleasure. 

Fortunately, the drive through Osaka was, once again, uneventful. They passed through the coastal city, only slowed by the rush-hour traffic. However, the few hours in between Osaka and Kobe began to mount the pressure again. 

Kobe was the main hub of yakuza. It was extremely likely that this southern syndicate had caught wind of the event in Tokyo. Ryuji’s mind was spinning. 

  
  


…

  
  


They had stopped for a quick refuel. Ryuji’s foot was bouncing against the pavement as he nursed the pump. Then, the back door of the car opened. A flash. Ryuji stood stunned, blinking. 

When his eyes had refocused, he realized the black-haired man was holding a camera. He was grinning, probably brighter than Ryuji had ever seen out of the guy. 

“Wha—” He exclaimed, a rush of red to his cheeks. “You got an effin’ camera now?!” 

“For pictures.” The camera clicked, and flashed again. 

“God, freakin’, what else is it for _. _ ” Ryuji pulled the pump from the car, slamming the cap shut. He returned to his driver seat. 

Another flash. 

“For real, man?” Ryuji threw a palm over his face. 

Ann chuckled. “Memories, hm?” She was messing with something in her lap. 

“She gets it.” The man mused to himself, laying back in his seat to play with his new toy. 

Weirdo. 

He sat for a moment. Then, Ryuji turned to Ann, and found her counting rounds of shotgun ammunition. 

“Shouldn’t I be doin’ that?” 

Ann shook her head. “It’s fine. I just figured you’d want us to be ready for, um, the city…” 

She trailed off as she sorted the shells. In a quick movement, Ann twisted around to retrieve the shotgun. “Oh, hey,” She set the barrel upon her lap as she searched through her personal bag. “I forgot I had this.” 

A moment later, Ann was offering a pistol to the man in the backseat. He glanced up and stared. 

“Do you know how to work this thing?” Ann asked, keeping the gun low. 

The stranger’s mouth opened, then pursed in thought. He shrugged in a manner that was only mildly concerning, and took the pistol from her. 

“Good enough, I guess.” 

  
  


…

  
  


Small-talk in the car had dwelled to a rigid silence. A fog of tension sat above their heads, three pairs of eyes darted around the crowded streets. Even the cat, usually rather talkative, had gone quiet. 

To a tourist, Kobe would’ve been a promising and bright city in Japan. For the passengers of the car, however, it was a concrete labyrinth of narrow roads, coarse traffic, and a distrust of every pedestrian that seemed to stare a second too long. Ryuji kept every car around them accounted for. As they trickled past the intersections, his body stiffened with nerve.

They had been crawling through the city for about an hour when they stilled at a traffic light, just a few miles from a sparse road leading south of Kobe. Ryuji took the opportunity to glance around: white SUV, grey sedan, white van, black sedan. He couldn’t quite make out the details of any particular driver, but they remained in the forefront of his mind. 

Ann sat beside him, rigid and awake. Ryuji could tell she was shaking a bit, but he was guilty of it as well. He could only assume that the man in the backseat was either paying attention or daydreaming away. There was no way of reading that quiet expression. 

The light turned and they drove until the next intersection. White SUV, white van, black sedan. 

After that, they hit another light. White van, black sedan. 

Another. Van, sedan. Handful of cars joining behind them. 

At the following block, the van turned out of sight behind them. The black sedan slowed and crossed into their lane. They were too close, but the entrance onto the new highway was just meters ahead. 

Ryuji’s hand found the clutch. The traffic light bore red in his eyes, the sedan sat inches from his bumper. He could hear Ann shifting in her seat, palm resting on the barrel. 

Green. The car lurched forward, a symphony of rubber squealing against asphalt. They jolted as Ryuji shifted gear and barreled towards the highway. The black sedan emerged from the burst of smoke and gained on them in seconds. 

He cursed, the car swerved to avoid a stalled taxi and almost immediately they were merging onto the highway. Their pursuant followed. Ryuji forced another gear, his foot meeting the floor. 

He almost didn’t hear it when a sudden pop split the air behind them. 

“Fuck!” Ryuji instinctively wrenched the wheel, the car wavering wildly in its lane. “Ann, shit, they're shooting!” 

She didn’t need another hint. Ann cranked the window down. In one brisk movement, she was leaning out of the car, shotgun trained on the sedan behind them. A swift  _ click _ , then an explosive bang. Ann was thrown back, and if she had taken a moment longer to recover, an enemy bullet would have returned the favor. She retreated back into her seat, heaving and shaken. 

The sedan was unphased. A shot struck the roof. 

“Ann!! _ Fuck _ , hit their tires or something!” Ryuji was practically screaming. He tried to weave around traffic in a wild pattern across the highway, but they followed with ease. 

“I’m fucking trying!!” Ann trembled as she replaced the empty shells. Taking nervous glances behind her, she tried to lean out of the car again. A bullet grazed her entrance. She fell back into the car, shaking. 

“ANN!” 

“I can’t!” She was shrieking, sinking into her seat. “Ryuji, they’re gonna fucking kill me!” 

A bullet hit the rear window. 

“FUCK!  _ GODDAMMIT! _ ” 

A back window was being cranked open. Ryuji surged ahead, cutting off another car in a vain attempt to spare time. The pursuit had long outlast the city, driving them into the quiet outer-city villages. A distant chorus of sirens was building behind them. 

He was preparing for another maneuver, when Ryuji noticed a figure in the side mirror. The black-haired stranger, torso poised outside the back window. He was only there for a split second, then—

A pop. The sedan was struck. It sputtered randomly in the lane, faltering, then swerved into a ditch. 

They were stunned into a silence. Shock, a few seconds of realization, then a rapid bolt of relief.

The man’s fists flew into the air and he shouted in victory. He whipped his head around, hair wild in the breeze. Ann slumped over, letting laughter overcome her panic. 

“Holy shit.” Ryuji breathed. 

The car, if only for a few blissful moments, was celebrating. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! leave a kudo and a comment if you enjoyed <3 
> 
> (I pinkie promise I won’t disappear for 10 months this time)


End file.
